


Fettered

by Magnolia822



Series: The Tied Series [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Knotting, M/M, Mpreg, Porn With Plot, Rating: NC17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:36:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnolia822/pseuds/Magnolia822
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is only one way to end Camelot's drought, but at what cost? (Third fic in the Tied Series.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fettered

**Author's Note:**

> The characters depicted herein belong to Shine and BBC. I make no profit from this endeavor.  
> Thanks to Asya_Ana for the beta! Also, heed the MPreg warning. If this is not your cuppa, steer clear.

  
Well after midnight, Merlin tiptoes into the chambers he now shares with Arthur. He sets down the musty book he brought from the library and divests himself of his clothes before sliding into bed beside Arthur who, as if sensing his presence, curls around him. At first Merlin thinks he’s successfully avoided waking the king, but then a kiss caresses his bare arm.  
  
“It’s late,” Arthur whispers. “Missed you.”  
  
“I’m sorry.” Merlin’s heart constricts in his chest, and he trails his fingers through his lover’s soft blond hair. He hasn’t wanted to stay away, but there are more pressing concerns on his mind. Three years since Arthur’s succession to the throne, Camelot is suffering a terrible drought. The entire kingdom watches the sky with growing despair as each day comes drier than the last. Most of the spells Merlin has found are just temporary fixes, promising a simple shower and not the extended soaking the ground needs to create life. He knows they are running out of time; if crops fail a second year, the winter will kill thousands. “I think I may have found something, though,” he says, thinking of the book on the table, a hand-notated Druid text.  
  
This is enough to wake Arthur. He sits up in bed, focusing his attentive gaze on Merlin. “Something to end the drought?”  
  
“Yes,” Merlin says. “I think I found a ritual. But it may have risks. It’s ancient magic, dangerous even in the hands of a skilled wizard.” Now that magic is no longer banned, Merlin has the full authority of the king to use whatever means necessary. According to the marginalia in the Book of Draoidheachd, the rite he’s considering is highly unpredictable and must be performed during Beltane, only a week away. Some of the notations—warnings, really—make Merlin nervous. Perhaps he should ask Gaius his opinion on the matter? No, Gaius will try to talk him out of it, and the prospect of discussing the intimate nature of the ritual with his old mentor isn’t appealing.  
  
Arthur nods in understanding. “Do you think it’s worth the risk?” His expression is serious, levelled on Merlin, and Merlin knows that Arthur’s concerns extend beyond the prospect of starvation. There are rumours filtering in from spies in the north that Camelot’s weakened state may invite attack; the army will not be able to hold off an invasion without proper food to maintain them. More is at stake than ever before, so Merlin has to accept the risk.  
  
“I do,” he says. “But I’ll need your help for this fertility ritual.”  
  
Arthur’s eyes glitter in the candlelight.

~o~

  
The moon is full on Beltane eve. Long shadows stretch across the land as Arthur and Merlin make their way toward the copse where Merlin has felt powerful Druid magic, the ancient circle of stones marking the place where he and Arthur must lie down together. While the rest of the countryside languishes, the ground here is lush; even in the darkness it seems verdant, the soft grass tickling between Merlin’s bare toes.  
  
Arthur is already hard when Merlin pushes back the cloak that covers the king’s nakedness. He sucks in a breath, gazing upon Arthur’s beauty, the cock jutting imperiously from between his thighs, the swell of the knot at the base. Though they’ve been mated for years, the sight of it never fails to stop his heart.  
  
Arthur licks his bottom lip while Merlin appraises him. “Do you approve of what you see?”  
  
“You know I do.”  
  
Perhaps it is because of the rite they’re about to perform, but Arthur lets Merlin pet him, feel his supple backside and thighs. Even with his limited diet Arthur is strong. Merlin grows erect and wanting, magic already tingling between them. Soon, however, Arthur becomes impatient. He grabs Merlin’s wrist and pulls him close, and when he speaks his voice is dark as his eyes. “You play a dangerous game, teasing me so,” he says, unfastening the cloak that hides Merlin’s body to mouth at his throat.  
  
Merlin whimpers, his cock straining against Arthur’s as their mouths clash in a desperate kiss, full of tongue and teeth and the promise of sex. The hair on Arthur’s chest scratches against Merlin’s sensitive skin, and Arthur’s arms wrap around his body, holding him in a tight vise.  
  
“What do you need of me?” Arthur asks, rolling his hips. His kisses become biting, sucking the blood to the surface of Merlin’s skin as his hands squeeze and knead the flesh of his arse. It’s difficult to respond to Arthur’s question. So far, Merlin has only given the king the barest information about the ritual, not wanting to disappoint him should it fail. But now, here alone with no witnesses save the beasts of the forest, Merlin is no longer afraid. This will work. He can feel the magic deep in his bones, in the connection between them.  
  
“You need to mate me,” Merlin says. “Here, in this circle of stones. You will mate me and I will speak an incantation that will end the drought.” He runs over the words that he has memorized, the spell that means his destiny.  
  
As if sensing there is something Merlin isn’t telling him, Arthur cocks his head, regarding him with narrowed eyes. Finally, Arthur pushes himself away with effort. “I need a moment.”  
  
“Of course,” Merlin says, moving off a few paces and dropping to the ground on all fours while Arthur controls his arousal.  
  
Thinking about the burden he’s about to take into his body heightens all of Merlin’s senses; the breeze caresses his bollocks, ruffles his hair and makes his scalp tingle. He can taste the dark earth and the herbs crushing under his hands and knees, melding with the smoke of distant fires beyond the copse where the people of Camelot perform their own Beltane rites. Oh gods, Merlin prays, please.  
  
He’s so wrapped up the sensations of the night that Arthur’s warm presence at his back startles him for a moment, fingers entering him without preamble. Merlin braces himself for Arthur’s reaction.  
  
“You’re ready for me,” Arthur says, strained. “You’ve already opened yourself up for me.”  
  
“Yes,” Merlin hisses, arching his back as Arthur slides a third finger inside. He’d liberally prepared himself before they left the castle, knowing they wouldn’t have much time before the moon reached its zenith.  
  
“Oh Merlin,” There is awe in Arthur’s voice as he removes his fingers, which Merlin knows are slicked with oil. “I must take you now. Quickly, on your back, so I can see your face.”  
  
“No,” Merlin says, shifting his hips up. “Now. Like this.”  
  
“Do you defy me?” Arthur teases, taking Merlin by his haunches. Both of them know this is one of the king’s favourite positions.  
  
Still, Merlin feels intoxicated by the night. He casts a look over his shoulder and smirks. “Yes, I defy you.”  
  
His words have the desired effect. With a low growl, Arthur pushes himself inside all the way to his knot, the force of it makes Merlin fall to his elbows, drooping as pain gives way to hot desire. Merlin’s cock thickens out again, dripping essence to wet the ground.  
  
Arthur cants his hips to get deep, moaning as his erection lengthens inside of Merlin, readying for its spill. His knot grows until Merlin can’t endure any more stretch, and Merlin lets out a gust of breath. The hot weight of Arthur’s body crushes him, and they sink together onto the earth, Arthur’s chest flush against Merlin’s back. For a moment they rock together, breathing in time as Arthur plants his cock with heavy rolls of his hips. The grass is soft on Merlin’s cock, and he ruts into it for friction as Arthur moans above him.  
  
“I’m so far inside you,” Arthur gasps, voice tight. “I’m already going to spend.”  
  
“Do it. Yes. I want your seed inside of me,” Merlin pleads, unable to hold back his desire. “Please, please, please . . .” He tears at the earth with desperate fists, baptizing the night with the smell of fresh soil.  
  
“I have so much seed for you. Gods, I feel as though you’re ripe.”  
  
Merlin can only whisper _yes, I am, yes, for you_ , and then Arthur is dragging him upright, moving with tight, deep thrusts that catch on Merlin’s rim and make him whimper. He’s full but ready for Arthur’s spending, and his arse clenches around the erection, revelling in the fact he has no choice, that they are latched and will be for hours, he has to take it, take all of Arthur’s come. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembers another purpose for being here, but Merlin’s blood pounds in his ears as he feels the first pulse of Arthur’s release deep inside, warming him, wetting him. Merlin groans as his climax burns through him, forcing his spill onto the earth below.  
  
“Yes, yes, you’ll take what I have to give.” Arthur is frantic now, dripping warm sweat onto Merlin’s skin as he screws his hips in desperate rhythm. Merlin’s desire returns with shocking heat as Arthur fills him beyond capacity, so that come trickles down the inside of his thighs even as more is deposited inside. “I’ll get you with child yet,” Arthur pants, licking Merlin’s back before pulling him up so he can mark the skin of his neck. Almost tenderly, Arthur wraps his arms around Merlin’s chest, teeth grazing Merlin’s nape. He knows what Arthur intends, can feel his body tense with crumbling restraint. They are filthy now, rutting on the ground like beasts, and as beasts they should be.  
  
“Do it,” Merlin says, “please.”  
  
Arthur bites his neck and holds him fast as he fucks Merlin into another hot release.  
  
The sensation of his second climax and the brief respite from lust snaps Merlin back to task. The moon is full above them now, gleaming through the veined branches of the trees. Merlin braces himself again on his hands and reaches out beyond his body to harness the power of the moon, of the air, of the life around them, and deep, deep inside he makes space. He begins the chant softly, a whisper that grows louder as Arthur continues to spend. The ancient words curl out of Merlin’s mouth and carry away on the breeze until he’s screaming into the night, the magic under his skin exploding out like fire, uncontrollable. Never has he felt such strength, as though he could raze an entire city or create one anew, and he takes Arthur deep, helplessly lost and grunting his pleasure. Merlin comes again the moment the bright spark quickens.  
  
Damp with sweat, Merlin leaves off chanting the incantation and realizes he’s taken to calling Arthur’s name.  
  
“Gods, Merlin, what have you done to me? I can’t stop.” There is exhaustion in Arthur’s voice, but he’s still rolling his hips, still latched. He mouths everywhere he can reach, hands gripping Merlin hard enough to bruise. Merlin has no idea how much time has elapsed. The moon is no longer high above them . . . hours have passed.  
  
Merlin is heavy with Arthur’s release and something improbable, something impossible.  
  
He laughs, tumbling to the ground with Arthur inside him as the first raindrops fall.  
  


~o~

  
Three days after Beltane, the languishing, parched fields sprout. By harvest, the grain stores cannot hold the wealth and have to be rebuilt. Rumours swirl concerning the strange turn of fate; villagers puzzle over the rain that comes in the night and leaves clear skies each morning. Some are afraid. While sorcery is no longer outlawed, many people are still wary of magic, and Merlin knows Arthur fears for his safety. So, even though the restriction to his freedom is trying, he keeps to the castle without much fuss. Even he is shocked. The fecundity of the land exceeds his wildest expectations.  
  
Yet Merlin begins to learn the cost. He grows uncomfortable, tired as if his power is slowly being leached from him. This is one of the side effects of the unnatural pregnancy he has taken on—everything goes to the child and the land. The magic seems beyond him now, far above in the firmament or deep within the soil. He does his best to hide his worry from Arthur, though with the way the king watches him, it proves an impossible task.  
  
Arthur can’t stop touching him, his eyes fierce with pride and possession that would be frightening in another man, but which Merlin absorbs like a hungry seedling. It seems the only thing that sustains him as the days turn cold and short.  
  
“I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens to you,” Arthur tells him one night, rubbing the swell of Merlin’s stomach. It’s seven months since Beltane, and Merlin is heavy with child. Outside, snow and ice batter against the castle, a siege that’s lasted four days, a symptom of Merlin’s sour mood.  
  
He sighs, leaning into the touch and trying not to dwell on Arthur’s words. He knew the risk when he performed the rite, but that doesn’t make the prospect of death any less terrifying.  
  
“Nothing will happen,” Merlin lies. With some awkwardness, he manages to flip himself over to face Arthur, drawing him in for a kiss, which Arthur resists.  
  
“Don’t dissemble, Merlin,” he says. “Tell me what we face.”  
  
Looking into the eyes of the man he loves, his mate, Merlin can’t lie. “The child can’t come in the normal way, you know. So I shall have to be cut . . .”  
  
Arthur grimaces. He bites his lip and looks away, probably thinking of his own mother and her death on childbed. “I won’t let you die.”  
  
“You won’t have a choice. But I’ll fight it.”  
  
“Swear to me,” Arthur turns back to him, his voice fierce.  
  
“I swear. I swear. I’ll fight for you.” This time, Arthur accepts Merlin’s kiss, and he takes his time, moving his lips slowly over the king’s, tasting him. At least Arthur will have the child he wanted, should it come to that. It offers some small comfort.  
  
Soon, the heat of Arthur’s mouth kindles a deeper fire. He sighs, letting Arthur’s tongue inside to stroke along his. His cock aches, lying heavy against his thigh.  
  
“Arthur,” he whispers, shifting as close as his belly will allow. Arthur chuckles darkly and reaches down to stroke Merlin’s hardness through his breeches. “Please,” Merlin says, unable to stand the teasing. He wants Arthur to fill him, to latch and put an end to his clamouring thoughts.  
  
With a practiced dexterity, Arthur unfastens Merlin’s laces and reaches inside to draw out his cock, making Merlin gasp at the needed contact. He ruts forward into Arthur’s hand, expecting a quick stroke to sate him, surprised when Arthur presses a kiss to the side of his mouth and then moves down his body, kissing his swollen belly before swallowing him down nearly to the root.  
  
“My love,” Arthur croons against him, massaging his cock with one hand while he  
tongues the sensitive underside of the head, and soon Merlin is shaking, his bollocks tightening. Never has Arthur taken him like this, so slowly, like he’s worshiping Merlin’s cock with the velvet heat of his mouth. Before he can catch his breath, Merlin climaxes deep in Arthur’s throat, the muscles constricting around him and making him cry out loud enough to wake the castle.  
  
He fists Arthur’s hair as he rides the end of the release, cock growing sensitive as Arthur licks and nuzzles. When he raises his head and meets Merlin’s eyes, he looks pleased with himself.  
  
“What about . . .” Merlin trails off, confused. Arthur can’t spend unless they lie together, yet still he’s made no move.  
  
“I’m well.” The king moves up behind him again, his shaft still hard against Merlin’s backside.  
  
“Did you not . . . take me because you’re afraid?” Merlin asks, not sure whether to be moved by Arthur’s consideration or terrified, for Arthur’s care also signifies his fear.  
  
“Of course not, you idiot.” Arthur buries his head into the crook of Merlin’s neck and presses a gentle kiss there, his hands still roving over Merlin’s body.  
  
“Oh, idiot, am I?”  
  
Arthur murmurs his agreement, cradling Merlin’s stomach with both arms. “My beautiful, impetuous idiot. Saving a kingdom and risking yourself.”  
  
“I did it for you.”  
  
“Then you can live for me,” Arthur says, though Merlin can hear the anxiety he’s trying to hide.  
  
Merlin closes his eyes, feeling the baby move, unsettling him when he wants to rest his eyes. He smiles at the little contrarian and loses himself to the tug of sleep just as the storm outside abates.  
  


~o~

  
It starts with a searing pain that cuts Merlin through the middle, making the bile rise. He retches on the floor, going slack-kneed and weak. Before he can fall, Arthur is there by his side, his face whitened with terror.  
  
“Merlin. Merlin!” Arthur’s strong arms are around him, lifting him as though he were no lighter than a bird. Merlin groans and touches his stomach, feeling for movement. Something is very wrong. “Guards!” Arthur shouts, voice wavering with fear, “Guards! Call for Gaius!”  
  
Merlin writhes on the bed, his body on fire with pain. His magic seems so far away—he can’t harness it, can’t do what he needs to do to keep the baby safe. Arthur is by him, holding his hand, wiping the sweat from his brow as he twists in agony, but all Merlin can do is stare up at him, gasping for breath.  
  
“Gaius, please.” Merlin hears Arthur’s words through a fog. “Please. Save him.”  
  
Somewhere, glass shatters. The wind whips through Arthur’s chambers, blowing back the bed curtains as Merlin drowns under a sea of pain. The grim face of his mentor is just barely visible before he feels the first sting of the blade, but the last thing he hears is Arthur’s voice. “I’m sorry, my love. I’m sorry. I love you.”

~o~

  
The shores of Avalon are shrouded in mist. Merlin can barely make out the island or the barque that ferries men across, never to return. He stands on the opposite side of the water and waits, fighting to remember how he came to be here. Then ripples break the stillness of the lake as the mists part.  
  
A dark-haired woman, familiar and unfamiliar, greets him with a smile in her eyes. The years have done nothing to erase her beauty.  
  
“Hello, Morgana,” Merlin says, surprised by the clarity of his voice.  
  
“Merlin.”  
  
“I . . . I’m confused. I’m not sure why I’m here.”  
  
She laughs, and the sound is deep and rich. “Oh, that’s because fate has yet to decide what lies in store for you.”  
  
“I feel I should be somewhere else.”  
  
She regards him sadly, and he feels his bones chill. “I’m sorry, old friend. That is not my choice to make.”  
  
It is then Merlin hears it, the far-off squall of a newborn.

~o~

  
He comes back to consciousness sore, blinking against the bright light. It must be mid-day, and the room is quiet. Struggling to sit up, a shooting pain in his midsection knocks the breath from his lungs. He falls back against the pillows, panting, his throat parched and . . . empty. The flat stomach under the sheets shocks him, and he grunts in surprise.  
  
“Merlin!”  
  
Arthur is there, Merlin realizes, probably having dozed off next to his bedside. His face is open with joy and relief, eyes soft.  
  
“Oh, thank the gods!”  
  
“Arthur? What happened? Where’s . . .”  
  
Suddenly his body grows cold with fear. The baby. He casts his eyes around for some sign of life.  
  
Arthur smiles and shushes him, pressing a kiss against his forehead. “She’s all right. One moment, love.”  
  
“She?” Merlin squeaks.  
  
When Arthur carefully deposits a small bundle in his arms, Merlin can’t stop staring. She has large blue eyes and a full head of blond hair, and tiny grasping fists that reach out for him. The future of Albion.  
  
“She’s . . .”  
  
“Gorgeous. Just like you.” Arthur curls up on the bed next to them, and Merlin feels the icy hold of Avalon slipping from him like a mantle. He’s not ready to wear it yet.  
  
“I can’t believe it. We . . .” He trails off, looking at Arthur in wonder.  
  
“What shall we call her?” Arthur asks.  
  
For some reason, only one name comes to mind. “Aithusa.”  
  
Arthur smiles, and his face is bright. He looks years younger, like a boy. “Yes. It’s perfect. The light of the sun.”


End file.
